


so i don't have to keep imagining

by preciousthings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Snapchat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousthings/pseuds/preciousthings
Summary: “It was a mistake. That’s— I didn’t mean that, and that’s it.” Mikey says, but he can’t quite meet Nate’s eyes. “That’s where I’m at, I guess.”“That’s what I thought. So, we’re on the same page.” Nate nods.(or: lost gold medals, ill-advised snapchats, love confessions, meddling teammates, and a whole lot of miscommunication.)





	so i don't have to keep imagining

**Author's Note:**

> this has been quiiiiite the process. according to microsoft word, i created the doc for this fic on january 19, and almost 9 months later we're here! 
> 
> thank you to karina and ash for reading this over, shai for just being the best, karina (again) for helping me whenever i hit a wall, and julia for getting me out of the hole with this one way back in january, and just being the best cheerleader and best friend a girl could ask for. 
> 
> title from 'something great' by one direction (honorable song mention goes out to 'patience' by shawn mendes because while this fic is not in nate's pov, that song 100% is him during the course of this)

Like most of the ill-advised decisions Mikey has made in his lifetime, he’s drunk and it involves Snapchat.

It's just–they lost. They came so close and they still lost and Mikey only played two minutes.

He's giving himself time to be upset. They all are.

The text on his phone from Nate, **i'm rly proud of you dude** , feels like a lie. It’s the first text he’s gotten from Nate in days. He can't bring himself to reply to it. For now, it’ll go unopened on his phone.

He's back at the hotel now; he and Taylor haven't said anything since getting back.

Mikey is laying on his stomach, face buried in his pillow. He changed out of his suit as soon as they walked through the door into a Steelheads hoodie he's sure doesn't belong to him. It's probably Nate's. It’s familiar and comfortable in a way he needs right now.

Someone opens their door after about ten minutes, but Mikey doesn't move.

"This fuckin’ sucks," Taylor says to whoever walked in.

"Yeah," Mikey mumbles into the pillow, but he's sure it ends up muffled and incoherent.

"Clouder looks dead," the other person says, and Mikey is pretty sure it's Dylan.

Mikey lifts his head. “That’s because Clouder is dead,” he mutters, and then drops his head back onto the pillow.

He rolls over eventually, when Dylan sits on the edge of his bed. Dylan is drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.

"Don't be a bottle hog." Mikey says, reaching across the bed to grab the bottle from Dylan's hand. He takes a long swig from it and it burns the entire way down. He's not complaining about that.

"I came here to tell you that I'm getting drunk and getting drunk alone would make me even more miserable than I already am," Dylan says.

It’s an appealing offer. Taylor is pulling on a sweatshirt before Mikey can even react.

"Show me the booze, Stromer," Mikey says eventually, rolling off the bed and dragging his feet across the room to grab a Gatorade from the mini fridge. It would be stupid to chase whatever he’ll end up drinking with it because the goal is to forget most of tonight, but Mikey would rather be safe than sorry.

 

 

A bunch of the guys are already in Dylan and PL’s hotel room when he gets there.

Mikey starts drinking.

Somehow, he ends up with a bottle of vodka. An entire bottle just for him. Speersy gives it to him, and who is Mikey to say no?

He keeps drinking.

It’s pretty fucking miserable, like, they were supposed to be celebrating, not commiserating. He didn’t cry, but he knows some of his teammates did. It’s kind of quiet and there’s a lot of cuddling; he doesn’t really mind cuddling. He’s never been in a room this collectively sad. But maybe this is what they need right now. Each other.

Mikey doesn't stop drinking.

“I could’ve been better, probably,” Mikey says to no one in particular, when he’s at least a third of the way down the bottle and the hotel room is getting a little more crowded. He’s lying flat on his back on one of the beds. Taylor is sitting next to him, texting. Mitchell is lying half in Taylor’s lap, their fingers laced together, and it confirms what Mikey had been suspecting the entire tournament about those two. Dylan is lying on the bed too, facing the opposite way. There might be someone else on the other side of Dylan. Mikey’s not really sure.

“We all could’ve been better, Mikey. Kinda why we’re here right now.” Taylor says, and that _stings_.

“I’ll drink to that,” Dante says from across the room. Taylor takes a swig from the bottle he’s been passing back and forth with Stephens.

Mikey just groans. His phone vibrates on his chest. He’s sick of the pseudo-comforting texts he’s gotten from too many people tonight, about how they tried their best, they should be proud, you’ll get ‘em next year! It’s not comforting at all and he’s doing his best to ignore it

He looks at his phone when it vibrates again, and he has two new messages from Nate.

**are you okay?**

**Taylor said you’re pretty fucked up right now**

Well.

 **vodka** , Mikey texts back, because that’s explanation enough. After he hits send, his phone falls onto his face. It kind of hurts, but he doesn’t move to pick it up until it vibrates again.

Nate’s reply reads, **don’t be too hungover, we have a game to win tomorrow**.

Oh, right. Hockey. He has a game tomorrow night that he’s actually playing more than two minutes in.

Mikey sits up and takes a long sip from the bottle.

Another vibration.

**But you probably don’t want to think about hockey right now.**

Mikey doesn’t know how to reply to that. He locks his phone and puts it in the pocket of his—Nate’s— hoodie.

He’s tipsy and everything is kind of soft and losing doesn’t hurt so fucking much like this.

 

 

Almost the entire bottle is gone when he opens Snapchat and sends one to Nate. The lighting is off and barely half of his face is in it, but it wouldn’t be a snap from Mikey if there were more of his face in it.

**_dude you looked so hot in my jersey last wk_ **

**_u looked even better out of it_** , he types in another snap, but deletes it. He doesn’t think he can say that.

He does end up sending a second one, but this one has more headboard and less face.

**_Nater cna I tell u a secr et_ **

Nater responds in thirty seconds, a fully black screen with just the word **_what_** in white. He must be in bed, almost asleep, curtains drawn, TV off, and Mikey wishes he could teleport all the way to Nate’s billets’ house in Mississauga.

He snaps another quick picture: a dark, blurry mess of a thing where his face is barely even visible. **_ve beeeen in love with u since the da y we got put on a line tg_**

It takes a long sip of vodka and two deep breaths to press send.

Nate opens it within seconds, and with every moment he doesn’t reply, Mikey feels a little more like he’s drowning.

It must be a full minute before Nate sends something back, just the same black screen as before. **_Mikey how drunk are you?_**

Fuck it. Fuck _that._ He takes a picture of the ceiling and slowly types out **_enough to tell u taht_**.

He pockets his phone again, and this time he powers it off instead of just locking it.

 

 

At 2 am, Mitchell sits next to him and swaps the bottle of vodka for a bottle of water. Mitchell Stephens is too good for any of them right now.

“You look sad,” Stephens says.

“We’re all sad, Mitchell.”

 

 

Carter sits on the bed next to him, when the room is even quieter and has emptied out a bit. Mikey is fairly certain Carter hasn’t been drinking tonight, or if he was, he never hit the point of drunk that he or Dylan did. He was just sad.

“Time for bed, Clouder,” Carter says, “C’mon, up.”

“I’m comfortable here,” Mikey mumbles, but he _is_ tired.

“This is PL’s bed.”

“Where’s Taylor?”

“Already back in your room.” Carter says, and he’s being very patient. More patient than Mikey deserves right now.

“Duber can have my bed,” he mutters, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Come on, Clouder.” Carter says softly.

What in the world did Mikey do to deserve Carter Hart tonight?

Mikey takes a sip of water before he stands up. He’s been on that bed for a really long time. Standing is weird right now.

“I did something dumb,” Mikey says in the elevator, going back up to his room.

“Dumber than drinking three-quarters of that bottle?” Carter asks.

“Yeah,” Mikey nods, “I sent a dumb Snapchat.”

“Yeah?”

“I told someone that I’m like, in love with them. I don’t know if he likes me back. I mean, he liked me enough to f-”

“Keycard,” Carter says, and Mikey stops talking, hands him the card.

It doesn’t occur to Mikey, as drunk as he is, that he outed himself to Carter. Carter doesn’t say anything about the pronoun. Or about the slip up.

“You’re great, Clouder. It’s impossible not to like you.” Carter says once they’re inside the room.

Mikey could say the same thing about Carter, really.

“You, too,” he does say. 

“He okay?” Taylor asks Carter from his bed. There’s definitely someone on the other side of him, already asleep, and Mikey’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell.

“Yeah, I think so. He drank a lot,” Carter says, “Just make sure he doesn’t die in his sleep.”

“He is right here and he can take care of himself.” Mikey sighs, flopping on his bed.

“Your shoes are still on,” Carter points out.

“Thanks, _mom_.” Mikey huffs, rolling his eyes. Eventually he sits up to take his sneakers off.

“Sleep on your side, Clouder. And good luck with your boy.” Carter says. 

It takes Mikey’s brain a second to catch up to what Carter said. He must be fucking transparent, because “your boy” is how the entire team has been referring to Nate since camp.

_Hey Mikey, how’s your boy?_

_Clouder, your boy coming tonight?_

_I saw your boy, Clousdy, he was wearing your old jersey._

Taylor had even chirped him about getting sexiled after the Slovakia game when Nate went up to their room. Taylor doesn’t know he actually got sexiled.

Mikey had kind of just accepted all of it. Nate’s his best friend; Mikey could easily be saying the same thing to Dylan about Mitch or Connor.

So Carter’s probably talking about Nate, which means Carter thinks Mikey has feelings for Nate, and like, he’s not wrong.

Not that Mikey would tell Carter that, but he’s definitely not wrong.

 

 

Mikey wakes up too early the next morning, because he didn’t close the curtains and apparently Taylor hadn’t either. Taylor’s still asleep, fucking spooning with Stephens, and if Mikey’s head didn’t feel like a stampede, he’d take a picture to chirp them in the team group chat.

He drags himself across the room to close the curtains because it’s fucking _bright_ and his head is pounding.

He should have expected to wake up with the hangover from hell. But he’s never felt this bad after a night of drinking before.

He stumbles to the bathroom because he needs to take something for his head and he needs it now. He swallows three pills dry and all but falls back into bed.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to Taylor’s voice. He’s on the phone with someone and Mitchell isn’t in his bed anymore.

“Wait, you didn’t sleep last night because of a fucking snapchat?” Taylor says, and Mikey stays completely still.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

“He was, but like everyone was really drunk last night… Backtrack for a sec, you actually sexiled me that night?... Use your words, man, that’s all I can say… Look, I gotta go… Yeah, talk to you later, man.”

Mikey rolls over then so he’s facing the general area of Taylor’s bed. He still has a headache, but it doesn’t feel like a stampede of elephants inside his head. It’s the little victories, sometimes.

“Oh, hey. You’re alive.”

“What the fuck happened last night?” Mikey asks, reluctantly. “Besides losing, I guess.” He doesn’t remember much after that. Bits and pieces. Moping, Dylan’s room, Carter Hart being a good person.

“Vodka,” Taylor says, and it explains a lot. Mostly the whole not remembering much thing.

Mikey’s phone had found its way to the table next to his bed, even if he doesn’t recall putting it there. It’s off, maybe dead, so he plugs it in, and the white Apple screen that pops up is way too bright to be holding six inches from his face.

He types in his passcode and watches as texts that he missed start coming in. He should probably answer all the ones he ignored last night at some point soon.

He has an unread Snapchat from Nate, that same goddamn black screen, **_go to bed clouder im not doing this w you rn_** and Mikey has to think about what that was even in response to. He remembers the vodka and Carter and _your boy_ ….

And, oh, Mikey remembers now.

Way later than he should have been awake, with a lot of alcohol in his system and absolutely nothing to lose, he told Nate something he’d never planned on saying because nothing would ever come of it. All of it just comes crashing down on him again.

It’s not like it was just a drunk thought. It came out like one, but Mikey _does_ like Nate in a totally romantic way. That wasn’t just a drunk lie. It’s been two and a half years of avoiding and ignoring it, and knowing that if no one brings it up, it doesn’t have to exist. Letting it take up the tiniest part of his brain at all times and urging his heart rate to go down whenever Nate got a little too close.

The thing is, now he knows too much. He knows what it’s like to kiss Nate. He’s done that, and he’s done more and he _wants_. God, he wants so much.

And last night, his filter was gone. If Nate’s response is any indication, he doesn’t feel the same. It isn’t like Mikey expected him to, honestly. Nate’s not much of a relationship guy, not the same all-or-nothing type Mikey is.

So there’s that. Mikey has unrequited feelings for his best friend; how teen movie of him.

Except in a teen movie, he’d get the guy in the end. This would be the part in the movie where things get bad _so_ they can get together.

He isn’t going to get that kind of teen movie ending. He just knows it.

 _Cool_ , Mikey thinks, _I’ll get over this eventually, or never, maybe_.

For now, just ignoring it seems like it might be the best option.

 

 

Going back to Mississauga is a little weird. He’s leaving 21 new brothers and a new family, going back to his _actual_ family and his team. It’ll be nice to sleep in his own bed again.

Mikey’s plan of ignoring what had happened last night is short lived.

Nate shows up at his house right as Mikey is in that place where he might be asleep but not asleep _enough_.

Nate has terrible timing.

Mom or Ryan must let him in; he’s basically an honorary McLeod at this point, he’s over so much. He goes up to Mikey’s room and opens the door without knocking first. Mikey is curled up, completely covered by a blanket.

“Is there a Mikey under that comforter?” Nate sits down on the bed, sprawling out so he’s at least half on top of Mikey.

Mikey groans under the blanket pile and tries to use his shoulder to shove Nate. It’s a useless attempt, because Nate is bigger than him and doesn’t budge easily.

“I think I found a Mikey,” Nate says, as Mikey is becoming increasingly annoyed with the large human lying on top of him.

“I’m going to hit you,” Mikey says, but it comes out muffled from under the blanket.

Mikey is able to free himself from the blanket cocoon when Nate gets annoyed with Mikey shoving him pretty incessantly.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mike.” Nate says, and Mikey can _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

“I was sleeping.”

“And now you’re not.”

Mikey reaches across the bed for his phone on the nightstand. Clicks it on. No texts from Nate. “A warning text would have been nice, is all I’m saying.”

Nate unlocks his phone and taps something out quickly.

Mikey’s phone vibrates seconds later. **Hey man i’m comin over** , reads the new text from Nate.

When Mikey looks back up, Nate is grinning at him, dimples and everything.

“I hate you,” Mikey says.

“Welcome home, Clouder. I missed you, too.”

They lapse into silence, and it’s not something uncommon for them. For Mikey, he just likes being around Nate. They don’t have to have a constant conversation going. Right now, though, it feels awkward and tense in a way that Mikey feels completely responsible for.

“Before you say anything about last night, just know that I was like, fucked up and overly emotional. So like, that’s it. That’s why.” Mikey doesn’t have to say the words ‘snapchat’ or ‘love confession’ to get his point across.

“I, um, figured that?” Nate says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

It confirms the suspicion Mikey already had since reading Nate’s reply earlier. And it _hurts_.

“Oh,” Mikey says, stupidly. He blinks. “I just—I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

“Are we?” Nate asks, and he still sounds unsure, unsteady. It confuses Mikey.

“It was a mistake. That’s— I didn’t mean that, and that’s it.” Mikey says, but he can’t quite meet Nate’s eyes. “That’s where I’m at, I guess.”

“That’s what I thought. So, we’re on the same page.” Nate nods

“Everything’s cool with us?” Mikey desperately wants Nate to say yes.

“Yeah, of course. Now, tell me all about World Juniors.” Nate says, and Mikey is silently grateful for the change of subject, even if what happened last night still isn’t easy to think about.

“Well, my three shifts in last night’s game were thrilling, and—”

“You played well, Mike, stop that.” Nate says.

The heaviness of the moment from earlier hasn’t really gone away. It still feels important.

“Wish I could’ve played more,” Mikey mumbles.

“Tell me about everything else, then. Everything that didn’t involve hockey, if that’s easier.”

Mikey smiles, and lays back on his bed. Nate lays, too, using Mikey’s chest as a pillow, and Mikey feels something settle inside him, the knot in his stomach unwinding for the first time since camp. He tells Nate about Christmas, about how he’s pretty sure like, half the team was hooking with each other, Taylor and Stephens not really being subtle.

He’s not sure how long he talks for.

 

 

Everything between Mikey and Nate feels okay for a little while, and then it doesn’t.

This sense that everything would be fine between them was only going to last so long.

Mikey isn’t _actively_ avoiding Nate, but he’s doing a good job at dodging him and getting out of things when he knows it’ll be just them.

He’s lying to himself if he thinks this is ideal, but whatever.

 

 

Nate gets hurt, and it’s always hard to see a teammate go down, even more so when you’re in love with that teammate. It looks a lot worse than it turns out to be, because two weeks later, it’s like he never left.

They’re practicing on the same line, because usually they play extremely well together. Lately, their chemistry has been off.

After a particularly bad drill, where their passes aren’t connecting at all, Nate calls his name across the ice.

“Keep your head up next time, maybe,” he says.

“Pass the fucking puck _to me_ next time, maybe.” Mikey rolls his eyes.

It’s not the only time.

Nate gets taken off Mikey’s line for a bit, but put right back by the end of practice. At least someone thinks they can still play decent hockey together, because right now Mikey isn’t convinced.

Most of the time, they’re playing okay hockey. Like, _passable_ hockey. Sometimes it’s better, but when it’s worse, everyone knows.

A bad pass leads to a breakaway for the other team during a game, and as soon as they’re back on the bench, Mikey is saying something about it.

“Who the fuck was that pass to?” he asks.

“You, if you would’ve paid attention!” Nate says, and there’s heat behind this in a way that’s unlike him.

“Maybe if you didn’t send it into the boards, I could’ve actually received it.”

“How about you two shut the fuck up?” Nic yells across the bench.

Their next shift goes better. Later in the game, Mikey sets Nate up perfectly to just tap the puck in. Nate crashes into him and he’s beaming, and that’s the closest he gets to friendliness, or anything else, from Nate for the rest of the day.

 

 

It’s Ryan who comes to Mikey eventually, because shit is weird with Nate but Mikey’s been trying to keep that out of the locker room. If Ryan wants to talk to him about it, he probably hasn’t been doing such a great job.

“Yo,” Ryan says, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table. Mikey has barely made a dent in his bowl of cereal.

“Hey,” Mikey mumbles, food still in his mouth.

“Everything okay with you and Nater?” Ryan asks, and damn it, Mikey wasn’t planning on having a conversation like this at 8 in the morning on a Saturday. Mikey wasn’t planning on having this conversation _at all_. Because the truth is, no, everything isn’t really okay with him and Nate. They haven’t had a normal conversation in weeks, but Mikey doesn’t know how to tell his younger brother why.

“I guess, yeah,” Mikey shrugs.

“You’re an awful liar, Mike.”

Mikey doesn’t respond to that, because if he knows anything about his younger brother, it’s that he won’t give up on this easily. He just keeps eating his breakfast.

“Everyone knows something happened, like, he’s not coming over as much anymore and you’re not joking and to be honest, you’re playing like shit together. The entire vibe in the locker room is messed up,” Ryan says, and Mikey knows better than to stop him now. Ryan is far from done talking. “And, like, most of the team legitimately thinks you two were dating in secret and just broke up.”

“Okay, what the fuck?” Mikey says, because he can’t help himself from not interrupting at that.

“We were all talking about it yesterday.”

“When?”

“We kind of had, like, a team meeting. Well, team minus you and Nater.”

“I’m the captain of the team, Ryan! You can’t just do that.”

“Except I did.” Ryan shrugs, but they both know he isn’t sorry for it. “It’s my duty as younger brother to our dear captain. Anyway, Nic was certain that you and Nater were dating, and that Nater dumped you. Pretty much everyone was on the same page about that? Tip and Gibby both thought you would have done the dumping but I have more faith in you than that. Plus, you’ve been sad lately. It would make sense that you got dumped by your best friend—”

“What the fuck,” Mikey says again. 

“—and then they were like, Ryan, you have to talk to Mikey about this because he’s your older brother. And I was like, wow, that’s even more reason for him to just hit me when I ask him if his alternate captain dumped him. But here I am, taking one for the team. Literally.” Ryan finishes, not missing a beat despite Mikey interrupting him mid-thought.

“We weren’t dating,” Mikey mumbles.

“And water isn't wet,” Ryan says.

“We weren’t dating! You live with me, Ryan. Don’t you think you would have noticed if I were sneaking around with Nater?”

“Then what the fuck happened to mess you two up this badly? Your relationship seemed stronger than that.”

“Clearly it’s not.”

The longer this conversation goes on, the closer they get to the truth, and the more Mikey doesn’t want to be a part of it. Telling his little brother about his dumb crush on Nate was never part of the plan.

“You’re so difficult, Mikey.”

“It’s all just a little fucked up.”

“Then un-fuck it,” Ryan says, deadpan.

“Ryan, I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Yes, you are. This isn’t just about your dumb fucking shit with Nate. This is about _our_ team, and _you’re_ our captain. _You_ have to fix it.”

“I told Nater that I like him, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Wait, you _like_ like him?”

“Yes,” Mikey sighs, “Like a dumb middle school crush. We hooked up at World Juniors, but it’s not a big deal.”

Except it’s totally a big deal.

Whatever. What Ryan doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Ryan is quiet for a second. “What—What did he say?”

“He doesn’t like me back,” Mikey shrugs, trying to sound as unaffected by this as he can, “It’s fine. Um, it’s whatever.”

“Mike, if you want to talk…” Ryan says, softly.

Mikey knows his brother better than most people, can read him better than he can read anyone else; Ryan isn’t just a concerned teammate anymore, he’s a concerned brother too, and that—

It means a lot.

“It’s not your place, Ryan, it’s— I’m okay.”

“I’ll fight him, you know,” Ryan smiles a little.

“I don’t need anyone to defend my honor right now, Ry.”

“Noted,” Ryan nods and gets up to make himself breakfast. “Oh,” he says, with his back turned to Mikey, “You don’t have to worry about me telling the team about this conversation, because like, I won’t. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Thanks,” Mikey mumbles into the mug of coffee he was just about to drink from.

“Got your back, bro.”

“Oh, um, you too. As your older brother, not your captain. And as your captain, I’ll try to fix everything.”

“I think it’ll work out.” Ryan says, and Mikey just nods.

For the first time, he thinks maybe it will, too.

 

 

It takes Mikey three days to even build up the nerve to talk to Nate. 

He has the entire conversation planned out in his head. He’ll waste no time, get right to the point, and end that horrible, awkward conversation before it could potentially get worse.

So, of fucking course Nate beats him to it.

“So, Ryan talked to me yesterday.” Nate says, hovering around Mikey’s stall when they’re the only two left after practice and Mikey is still only half dressed. He raises an eyebrow. He was under the impression that he was handling this and not Ryan.

“It was weird,” Nate continues, “Like, I’ve never gotten the shovel talk from the 17-year-old younger brother of a person I’m not even dating. That was new.”

Mikey’s going to kill his brother.

“Can we talk about this somewhere that isn’t here?” Mikey pulls a sweatshirt over his head.

Mikey notices Nate’s eyes flick back up to his face once the sweatshirt is on. Nate just pulls Mikey by his wrist into one of the empty trainer’s rooms down the hall. Like whatever just happened didn’t happen at all.

“Okay, so he didn’t _actually_ give me the shovel talk, like, it was mostly about how we need to fix whatever happened with us because the team knows.”

Mikey lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Maybe Ryan hadn’t told Nate everything. “He told me the same thing, mostly. I didn’t think he was going to talk to you about it.”

“But like, he also told me that if I ever did anything to make you upset, he’d hurt me. That was weird because I’d literally just told him that we weren’t dating.”

Mikey’s right back to wanting to kill Ryan.

“I can’t believe so many of them thought we broke up,” Mikey says, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

“I can’t believe most of them thought _I_ would have dumped you.” 

“They’re right,” Mikey smirks, and it’s a joke.

Mostly a joke.

Because if they were dating, if they were a real thing, Mikey wouldn’t let that go. No way.

“Dude, if you were my boyfriend, I’d treat you _so right_. I’d be fucking boyfriend of the year.”

“Oh, I bet.” Mikey laughs. Nate laughs, too, and it’s been way too long since he’s heard that laugh.

“Let me take you out. Show you what I’d do if you were my boyfriend,” Nate suggests and Mikey’s brain immediately goes into full panic mode.

He sputters a bit, trying to form words, and he’s sure he’s beat red at this point, “I, um… The whole team thinks we’re dating already! This would just… make them think it more.”

Smooth.

Nate nods, and Mikey swears he sees disappointment flash across his face.

“Come over?” Mikey asks, “Ryan can see us making nice. And I kinda miss my best friend.” He smiles, small and so full of hope that maybe, _maybe_ they’re finally on their way to fixing this.

“We should have sex.” Nate says, simply. Mikey’s never been propositioned so bluntly before.

“What—”

“We’ve been off for a while and this could, like, fix it…” Nate is bright red, stumbling over his words, simultaneously embarrassed and stressed out in a way Mikey has never seen from Nate before.

(It takes all of Mikey’s self-control to not just blurt out, “Why am I in love with you?”)

Mikey stands there, considering, doing anything he can to avoid Nate’s eyes right now.

“Dude, you’re thinking too hard. I can _see_ you thinking. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Every shred of self-respect Mikey ever had goes out the window when he eventually nods. “Shit, yeah, man. You’re right.”

“Ryan can see us making a little more than just nice,” Nate smirks, and Mikey has to laugh at that.

Mikey shoves his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and they lapse into a silence that borders on awkward until they both open their mouths to speak at the same time. They laugh a little, before they do the exact same thing again, this time both saying “no, you first.”

They laugh again, and it’s the most like _NateAndMikey_ they’ve been in a long time, Mikey thinks.

 

 

Nate pushes Mikey against his bedroom door the second it’s closed, and kissing Nate is electrifying.

Mikey knows that sounds really fucking stupid, but he’s really fucking stupid in love with Nate, so.

They’re still kissing against the door; it’s so fucking intense – passion and heat and Mikey’s never kissed someone and wanted so much in his life. He’s breathless, sandwiched between the door and Nate, when Nate pulls back and murmurs, “Bed, c’mon.”

Mikey swears he blacks out for a second when he pulls Nate back by his t-shirt, presses a quick kiss to his lips, and then actually takes the t-shirt off. Rational, not-kiss-dumb Mikey would never.

But Nate likes it. Mikey can tell from the look in his eye, the way his lips quirk up before he leans in to kiss Mikey again.

“You’re wearing too many layers,” Nate mumbles, when he’s pulled back again, trying to get Mikey’s sweatshirt off.

Mikey eventually takes it off himself, and his t-shirt too. It’s incredibly unsexy but he’s only mad about it for a few seconds because Nate is pushing him down onto the bed now, and, _oh_ , Mikey likes where this is going.

He liked it in December, when he was less sober and not sure if it was something he’d ever have again. And now.

Now he has it.

It all happens so quickly. Mikey is arching up to kiss Nate. Nate has a hand on Mikey’s waistband.

And then Nate’s expression changes. He pulls back and looks at Mikey like something clicked. Like something changed and he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want Mikey.

Mikey feels cold, where Nate was just touching him.

“Stop, Mikey. I… We can’t. “

“We already have, Nate.” Mikey mumbles.

Nate shakes his head and backs up toward the door. Mikey sits up.

“I know,” Nate says steadily, and Mikey knows him well enough to know that it’s taking everything in him not to burst right now. He can tell from the deep breath he takes, the tense set of his shoulders against the door.

Nate is second nature to him.

“I know we have,” Nate continues, “and that’s why I can’t do it again.”

“Was I really that bad? I mean, I wasn’t completely sober but I really don’t think I’m _that_ bad at sex.”

“Fuck, Mikey,” Nate sighs, this long-suffering sigh, and Mikey is just. He’s so fucking confused.

“You wanted to again! _You’re_ the one who asked _me_.”

Nate shakes his head. A beat of silence. “I can’t let myself get so close to this again.”

“What’s _this_ , Nate?” Mikey is borderline exasperated, like. He was definitely about to get laid here. And he’s in love with Nate, which he was just trying to momentarily ignore in the name of good sex, but Nate’s gone all cryptic on him.

“You,” he says, simply.

Mikey sits silently, waiting for something else, _anything_ else. He’s looking around his room, at the old hockey posters on the wall, at the blanket half hanging off the bed because of the way he fell back, at the bruise on his thigh from Ryan accidentally shooting a puck at him, anywhere but Nate’s eyes. He wonders if Nate can hear how hard his heart is beating right now.

“I didn’t think it’d be a problem, doing this with you again,” Nate says. “But last time I couldn’t stop thinking about you after. I had a full-on fucking crisis that week, because like. Who the fuck realizes that suddenly that they’ve been in love with their best friend for who-fucking-knows how long? So I don’t want to have all of this for two hours and then ruin it all or lose it again. I’d rather not have it at all, then.”

Mikey realizes that Nate kept talking, but his hearing mostly cut out after that casual love confession.

But then it hits him. The end of what Nate said. He’s expecting Mikey to break his heart, like he hadn’t even considered that Mikey is just as in love. Like there was no chance of it at all.

“Do you remember the snapchats I sent you the night of the gold medal game?” Mikey says, voice fighting to stay even in

“That drunken love confession? Yeah,” he laughs, and he sounds bitter. Mikey has made him _bitter_. “How could I ever forget?”

“I was drunk, but I…” Mikey takes a deep breath. It’s easy to be in love with Nate, but right here, telling Nate that, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I meant that.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Mikey. Not after what I just told you. Don’t do this.” His tone is warning, something Mikey rarely hears out of Nate.

“You can ask Carter fucking Hart, okay?”

“You fucking nerd,” Nate teases, and his familiar smile is back and Mikey feels warm all over. “I can’t believe you told Carter that you’re in love with me.”

Mikey rolls his eyes, because that’s not the point but okay, Nate.

“You are, right? I’m not just making that up, am I?” Nate adds, when Mikey doesn’t say anything.

Mikey gets up and crosses the room to where Nate is still standing against the door. He gets close enough to kiss him, and doesn’t even have to think twice before he does, and that’s nice. To kiss Nate without having to think about it, to kiss Nate at all. “Does that answer your question?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. You might have to do that again,” Nate smirks.

“I take it all back. I actually hate you.” Mikey teases, laughing. Nate pushes at his chest a little, but something settles between the two of them. Mikey feels more at ease than he has in _months_.

“Dude,” Nate grins, eyes lit up.

“I love you,” Mikey says. “I’m sober now and it’s been like, two months, and I still love you. I meant it when I said it was from the first time we played together. Loved you then, still love you now.”

Nate kisses him again, soft this time. There’s nothing leading behind it, no heat or desire to go somewhere further than where they are right now: standing shirtless against Mikey’s bedroom door, lazily kissing like they’re the only two people in the world.

They have a lot of time to figure the rest out.

**Author's Note:**

> untagged characters: mitchell stephens, blake speers, dylan strome, pierre-luc dubois, dante fabbro, nic hague (the rest of the wjc team is there but those are the ones i mention by name!)
> 
> in a continuation of this, the entire 2017 world juniors team would find out about this relationship through word of mouth within a single day. it starts with ryan mcleod telling dylan strome, who tells taylor raddysh and from there it continues until literally everyone knows. all of the steelheads find out at the same time because someone (nate) assumed the locker room was empty and just wanted to kiss his boyfriend. 
> 
> mikey gets a text from carter hart a few days after apparently all of hockey canada finds out: "see clouder, i told you that it's impossible not to like you :)"
> 
> another little thing: mitchell and taylor were absolutely a thing the entire tournament (and beyond that), 
> 
> come hang out on [tumblr](http://marns16.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/nhlbarzal)


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